The next day.
In the morning, the warm sunlight seeped through the gaps in the curtains and onto the pure white quilt.
When Elliana Lyle woke up, the phone by her bedside was still connected, displaying the name "Norman Bennett" on the screen.
She picked up the phone and slowly sat up, rubbing her groggy head. Last night, she called Norman Bennett.
She must have been too tired and fell asleep while talking.
"Awake?" Perhaps he heard her rustling, as a slightly indifferent voice came from the other end of the phone.
She was stunned for a long time before putting the phone to her ear and slowly speaking, only to find she couldn't utter a word. With great effort, she managed to say just one: "Hello."
It was obvious that her voice was hoarse, she was somewhat voiceless, and there was a foreign feeling in her throat, swollen and painful—she must have caught a cold.
"What's wrong with your voice? Are you feeling unwell?" The man detected the anomaly and asked.
